


All Burrito Diet

by 7r33h0u53r3fu633



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Caretaking, Gen, Middle Play, Non-Sexual Age Play, Rambling Conversation, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 02:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18790858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7r33h0u53r3fu633/pseuds/7r33h0u53r3fu633
Summary: Shane and Ryan have a few disagreements in regards to what counts as a "balanced" diet. Among other things.





	All Burrito Diet

Ryan Bergara took another slug of an energy drink, made a face, and set his shoulders. He tried to ignore the concerned look that Shane was shooting him - the guy could be a total mother hen when he got in the swing of it. "What?"

"You look like shit," Shane said, and his tone was surprisingly cheerful.

"Gee, thanks," Ryan said, and he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with both hands. "You sure are a good pal, letting me know that I look like shit."

"I'm your friend," Shane said. "What kind of friend would I be, if I wasn't honest with you?"

"A nice one?" Ryan gave Shane a Look. 

Shane seemed unbothered by it, the jerk. 

"A nice friend would let you spiral into some sort of horrible feral state where you subsist on Dorrito crumbs and protein shakes," Shane told him. "C'mon. Let's get some lunch."

"It's nearly ten o'clock, and I've got to finish this by midnight," said Ryan. He stretched his back out, wincing at the various ways that it was cracking, and then he hunched over the laptop again. His back gave a twinge of protest, and he rubbed it, making a face. He needed a better chair. Or maybe one of those standing desks. He'd worry about it later, regardless. 

"Why did you let it get so late, anyway?" Shane rubbed his eyes. 

"I fell down a research deep dive, and then I got pulled into something else, and then the boss walked by and just dropped a whole bunch of files in my lap... like, metaphorically, and said that I had to do that, so I've got to do _that_ , but I've also got to do the original research, because I've got this -"

"Ryan," Shane interrupted, "when was the last time you ate real food?" 

"Hm?" Ryan blinked at him. His thoughts seemed to be about five steps in front of his actual mouth, and they were all stuck in the door. 

"Real food," said Shane. "Like, with vegetables and starches and proteins."

"I had a sandwich," said Ryan.

"What kind of sandwich," Shane prompted.

"Uh... I think it was from Subway?" Ryan wracked his brain, trying to remember what it was that he'd eaten, and when he'd eaten it. He faintly remembered the crunch of bell peppers between his molars, the taste of pastrami. 

Okay. 

"We're getting food," Shane said firmly. 

"But - "

"It'll still be here when you've eaten," Shane said. "C'mon. The Chipotle is still open."

"Does Chipotle count as food?" Ryan was jiggling his leg - that was impressive. All the caffeine racing through him like a hamster on a wheel, or maybe dogs on a racetrack. What was with him and all the similes lately? Let alone animal ones. Everyone did animal similes when they were this -

"Ryan," Shane said, interrupting the primal scream that was rocketing around Ryan's head, "we're going to get food." His tone brooked no argument. 

"Are we?" Ryan locked his computer on autopilot, and then he stood up, stretching. Various things cracked and creaked, and his sore back twinged again. 

"We are," Shane said firmly.

"Do I get a say in this?"

"Ryan, the last time you were this wired and weird it took me far too long to figure out what it was that you were trying to say," said Shane. "It trailed off into incoherence about there pages in." Then ha paused. "More incoherence than usual."

"Now you're just being a judgmental prick," Ryan told Shane, his tone prim.

"Just keep telling yourself that," said Shane. "I will bodily lift you out of here if I have to."

"You wouldn't be able to," Ryan said, although he wasn't actually sure even as he said it. Shane wasn't exactly made of muscle, but he wasn't exactly some scrawny weakling either.

"You want me to try?" Shane crossed his arms over his chest. "If we're really lucky, I may end up throwing my back out, thus well and truly fucking us both over."

"That's emotional manipulation," Ryan groused.

"Is it working?" 

"... It might be," said Ryan, and he sighed, a long, gusty sigh. "How do you know that the Chipotle is open, anyway?"

"I've pulled late nights before," Shane said. 

"And here you are, lecturing me about how I should be more responsible or some shit," Ryan said, and then he yawned, his jaw cracking.

"I didn't say anything about responsibility," Shane said. "I think you're editing reality at this point."

"I'm _supposed_ to be editing," Ryan said, his tone plaintive. 

"Not reality, I hope," said Shane. 

"If I could edit reality, you think I'd let the world stay... y'know, like this?" Ryan made a vague hand motion.

Shane snorted. "It's like that one weird Adam Sandler movie," he told Ryan.

"Which weird Adam Sandler movie?"

"The one with the magic remote control," said Shane. "C'mon. We're gonna get burritos." 

“Why are we gonna get burritos? Why not tacos?” Ryan was being contrary to be contrary, because… well, he was himself. How could he be himself, if he wasn’t being at least a bit of a pain in the neck. 

“If you want tacos, you can get tacos. I will even buy you a taco. But you will eat _something_. Something that has actual nutrients in it.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know how to feed myself, Ryan grumbled, although there wasn’t much complaint in the grumble.

“You don’t really feed yourself like you know how to feed yourself,” said Shane. “At least, not when you’re in your crunch time mindset.”

“I take care of myself when I’m in my crunch time mindset,” Ryan protested. “I’ve gotten up to pee, I’ve drunk water -”

“Those are _basic requirements_ , Ryan,” Shane said, exasperated. “That’s the kind of shit that you I’d expect of a _plant_ , not an actual human being!”

“Since when do plants pee?”

Shane made a frustrated noise, and he prodded Ryan in the side. “You’re being obtuse,” he told Ryan.

“I always thought I was pretty acute, myself,” Ryan said, more to say it than because he meant anything with it. 

"Funny," Shane said, his voice as flat as a floorboard. "Almost as funny as when I heard it on _Family Guy_ , in 2011."

"Low blow," Ryan said, wrinkling his nose as the two of them made their way towards the elevator."

"I calls 'em like I sees 'em," said Shane.

"You sound like a radio announcer from, like, the thirties when you say that," said Ryan.

"I should hope so," said Shane, and he did something with his posture to make himself look like he belonged in a noir film - all he needed was the fedora to pull over one eye and some mood lighting, maybe a trench coat. Ryan was impressed in spite of himself. "When did you listen to radio programs in the thirties, anyway?"

"I can't have layers?" 

"You _can_ have layers," said Shane, "but usually those layers are covering up some weird deep dive you did where you ended up coming out the other side knowing about the history of semaphore or that one lady who made the fake paper on cello scrotum -"

"I learned about that on a YouTube quiz show," Ryan protested. 

"Still," said Shane.

"That's not an argument," Ryan groused. 

"Never said it was," said Shane, and he put a hand on Ryan's shoulder and squeezed. "C'mon, buddy. Let's get some food." The elevator dinged, 

Ryan blushed, and then wasn't sure why he was blushing. He wasn't exactly the type to have a bunch of feelings at the drop of a hat. Or at least, he liked to think that he wasn't the type to have a bunch of feelings at the drop of a hat. What even were feelings?

"Ryan," Shane said sharply, and Ryan jumped. 

"Hm?" Ryan looked over at him.

"You're staring off into the middle distance with a vacant expression," said Shane. "That usually means you're going to say something stupid."

"That was judgmental," Ryan said without rancor.

"But it was honest," Shane told him.

"It's not always something stupid," Ryan said.

"Sometimes you have a surprising amount of insight," said Shane. "But usually it's stupid."

Ryan poked Shane in the side, and Shane made an irritated noise, rubbing the spot. 

"How is it that you're older brother in your particular family dynamic, but you still manage to be such a little brother?" Shane at least didn't look mad. That was good.

"I contain multitudes," said Ryan, making a benevolent gesture, like a saint in a picture.

Shane snorted, rolling is eyes. "You're such a weirdo," he told Ryan.

"I do my best," Ryan demurred.

"Apparently not, if I have to remind you to eat," Shane said. The elevator dinged, the doors opening, and the two of them made their way out, into the empty, echoing lobby. 

"Low blow," said Ryan, wrinkling his nose.

"It's not a low blow," said Shane. "Or if it's a blow, it's with, like, a foam bat."

"A foam bat to the nuts is just as painful as anything else to the nuts," said Ryan. 

"And how would you know that?"

"I've got a little brother, remember?"

"And he hit you in the nuts?" Shane looked faintly scandalized.

"Yep," said Ryan. "What, you never hit your brother in the nuts?"

"Not, like, on purpose," said Shane. "Why'd he hit you in the nuts?" 

"I don't remember," said Ryan. "It was _ages_ ago. When we were still young enough that beating each other up for fun was a thing we did."

"Me and my brother didn't really have that stage," said Shane, his tone thoughtful. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his heels. "So. We can do Chipotle, I think that one Indian-Mexican fusion place is still open -"

"Won't that melt your face off?" Ryan was intrigued in spite of himself - Indian-Mexican fusion sounded like a pretty good mix. They walked out the door, and the heat of the day hit them in the face like a baseball bat - Shane almost staggered. The big guy never _had_ been any good at heat. 

"I can take spice," said Shane. "Just because I'm from the land of the tater-tot casserole doesn't mean I can't enjoy other types of cuisine."

"Half the time you end up looking like you're going to die," Ryan said, but he was grinning as he said it. They stopped in front of Shane's car, and Ryan climbed into the passenger seat, leaning back into the seat. 

"That's just what my face looks like," Shane said. 

"What, in a rictus grin?"

Shane looked at him, impressed. "That's a ten dollar word," he told Ryan. "Where'd you get that one?"

Ryan yawned, rubbing his eyes. "Been having some trouble sleeping," he admitted, with the kind of candidness that comes from exhaustion. "I've been reading stuff, in hopes of it, y'know, putting me to sleep."

"Ryan," Shane said, "whatever you're reading, I don't think anything that has the word "rictus" in it will be particularly good for rest." 

“It can be restful,” Ryan protested. “Or tedious. Tedious and restful can feel the same, if it’s late enough.”

Shane shot Ryan a sidelong look, and he shot Ryan a concerned look. “I worry about you, you know that?” 

“You don’t need to worry about me,” said Ryan, making a dismissive hand gesture. 

“You’re staying up and reading gothic novels late at night -”

“I’m not reading gothic novels,” Ryan interrupted. “I’m reading Lovecraft.”

“That’s worse!” Shane sputtered. “How are you reading _Lovecraft_ to get to sleep?!” 

“When I’m in the right frame of mind,” Ryan said weakly, “I trip over one of those ridiculous lines of adjectives he likes so much, and I just kinda… follow it into sleepy-time.”

“And then probably have screaming nightmares,” Shane groused. “No wonder you’re like that.”

“LIke what?” Ryan crossed his arms over his own chest, trying to look disgruntled while exhausted and buckled into his seat. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think.

“I rest my case,” Shane said, as he stopped at a stop light.

Ryan made eye contact, and then the both of them were laughing - laughing like loons, or maybe hyenas. It was whooping, cackling laughter that was too big for the small space. 

"You need to take better care of yourself," Shane said, when the laughter had died down. "Like... eat more regularly, get more sleep."

"Okay, _Mom_ ," Ryan said, making a face. He as perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He was a grown ass man. He could deal with his shit. He'd just been... distracted lately. 

"You keep saying that," Shane said, "and then look where you end up?"

"Running a successful YouTube channel off of a glamorous -"

"We're not exactly glamorous," Shane cut in. "We're kind of an internet punchline at this point."

"We'll get back to the top," Ryan said, with more confidence than he felt. A good _deal_ more confidence than he felt. "Wasn't there a character named Rictus in _Fury Road_?"

"What?" Shane looked faintly nonplussed, as he pulled into the parking lot of the Chipotle.

"In _Fury Road_. You know, the Mad Max movie? Wasn't there a Rictus?"

"I... don't remember," said Shane. "Weren't we just talking about how you need to take better care of yourself?"

"I was offering a subtle misdirect," Ryan said.

"It wasn't that subtle," said Shane. 

"I've been up a long time and I'm hungry," Ryan said. 

"Exactly," said Shane. "Which is why you should sleep more."

Ryan groaned, covering his face with both hands.

"No more late deadlines," Shane said, and his voice was firm.

"Shane," Ryan said, "you're not, like, my big brother or my dad or whatever."

"I know," Shane said, and he reached out, one hand on Ryan's knee. "I get that you're feeling the crunch, and I'm feeling it too. But I need you to not give yourself a nervous breakdown. Because then I'd be without my cohost, and more importantly, you'd be having a nervous breakdown."

"I mean," said Ryan, and he gave a laugh that he was at least trying not to make too hollow, "We're both in new media, so a nervous breakdown is going to be here sooner rather than later."

"Aren't you the cute little optimist," Shane said, his voice dry as old bones. He patted Ryan on the head, and Ryan made a face, but he was blushing. He wasn't sure why he was blushing, but that was an issue for some later date. 

"I'm not cute," said Ryan, more out of instinct than because he was having any feelings about it in one direction or the other. 

"Sure you're not," Shane said, and his voice was so condescending that Ryan reached over and prodded him in the side.

Shane prodded him back, and Ryan made an indignant noise. "What was that for?"

"You started it," Shane reminded him.

"What are you, twelve?" 

"You started it," Shane repeated. "If I have learned nothing from my years of being a younger brother, it is that the one who starts it is the one at fault."

"You sound like you're reading a fortune cookie," Ryan said. 

"All the good Chinese places around here are closed," said Shane, "so it's burritos."

"I'm not complaining," Ryan said. "I love me a burrito."

"A specific burrito," Shane said, turning the car off, then stepping out. He stretched, straightening his back out - he must have been sore, to have been hunched over like that. "No other burrito will do."

"Have you always been such a pedantic asshole and I usually tune it out, or are you being especially obnoxious today?"

"Little bit of column A, little bit of column B," Shane said, making a shifting hand motion.

Ryan snorted. "Let's go get burritos," he said. "The quicker we finish them, the quicker we can get back to work."

"You're going to burn yourself out, if you're not careful," said Shane. 

"I'm not going to burn out," Ryan scoffed. "I'm gonna break out, become a start."

"You're more of a star than other people," Shane pointed out, as they began to walk towards the Chipotle. The light from the windows was very bright in the dim parking lot. 

"Well, yeah, okay, we're kinda-sorta internet famous," said Ryan. "But I want to be... like, _really_ famous."

"Really famous," said Shane. "What kind of really famous? Like Markiplier famous?"

"That'd be neat," Ryan admitted. "Or maybe even a more legitimate kind of famous, like... Leonardo DeCaprio kind of famous."

"I think you may be a little over the hill to get to that level of famous," Shane said, and he clapped Ryan on the shoulder.

"Over the hill, and I'm not even thirty five," Ryan said, his tone glum. He was putting the glumness on for show.

Mostly.

"Yep," Shane said. "You're truly old and decrepit now."

"What does that make you, the Crypt Keeper?" Ryan was smirking a bit in spite of himself. There was something... relaxing about the banter, the familiarity of the give and take, going back and forth.

"Something like that, yeah," said Shane, and he put on a pretty reasonable cackle. "If I had any pride in myself I'd be making a pun right about now."

"Since you're not, I guess you don't," said Ryan. 

The Chipotle was empty, and their footsteps were echoing in the open space.It was a bit eerie - Ryan was used to seeing the place have at least one or two people mooching around. Not just silence, and a rather bored looking guy behind the counter. 

"... What?" Shane looked at Ryan, trying to parse the sentence.

"Never mind," said Ryan. "I'm not entirely sure what I meant by that either."

"At least we're both lost,” Shane said. 

“I suppose there’s some comfort in that,” Ryan allowed. 

* * *

They ordered their burritos - Shane insisted that they eat in the restaurant, since, according to him, Ryan’s brain needed a rest. 

“You’ve been a lot more… pulled in different directions,” Shane said, after Ryan had scarfed down about half of his burrito in record time.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Ryan said through a mouthful. True, he was feeling… stretched out, but that could be anything, right? The world was going to shit, their job was… less secure than they’d thought it was. It would calm down, eventually. 

"Ryan, I have seen you fall asleep at your desk. Like, multiple times. And you nearly jumped out of your skin the other night, when I tapped you on the shoulder."

"I've always been high strung," Ryan said, aware that he sounded defensive, but not sure how to stop it.

"I'm just saying," Shane said. "Maybe we need to slow down a little bit." 

"I don't want to fall behind," Ryan said, possibly with more sincerity than he intended to. Shane was looking at him with a thoughtful expression. 

"Can you at least try reading stuff that isn't _Lovecraft_ when you're trying to go to bed?"

"What do you have against Lovecraft, anyway?"

"You mean, apart from the virulent racism, hackneyed cliches, overuse of a metaphors, and the fact that he apparently had a page a day calendar full of obscure words that literally nobody uses?" 

"This whole conversation started because we were talking about me using a weird word, so obviously someone uses it," said Ryan. He took a slug of his water.

"Well, yes, okay, but it is unusual enough that I notice when you use it," said Shane, not put off by Ryan trying to change the subject. He never was, the bastard.

"And here I thought you were lecturing me on how uncultured I am."

"No," Shane said. "I'm lecturing you over the fact that you need to sleep more, and reading old horror fiction before you go to sleep isn't exactly conductive to good sleep."

Ryan made a vague dismissive hand motion. "I'll be fine," he told Shane. "If I end up starting to go off the deep end or whatever, I'll tell you. I promise."

"See, that's what I'm stuck on," Shane said, and he rested his elbow on the table, his chin on his palm. "Will you be able to _tell_ that you've gone off the deep end?"

"Are you saying that you wouldn't be able to tell if I'd lost my mind?" Ryan wasn't sure if he was offended or vaguely amused.

"I'm saying that you walk the fine line between genius and insane a lot," Shane said.

"So you think I'm a genius?" Ryan preened.

"No," said Shane. "I didn't say you were on any particular _part_ of the line."

Now the two of them were clearly just bantering for the sake of bantering, and that was comfortable, too. It was nice to feel like he belonged like this - there was always a place for him, as long as he had a witty retort, and Ryan would always have a witty retort. 

"It's a line," said Ryan. "I can't just balance on the line. One of my feet would be on either side of it."

"Not if it's a thick enough line," said Shane. 

"How thick a line are we talking, here? Because then we're getting into, like, rectangles, not lines." 

"What?" Shane blinked at Ryan, his eyebrows almost meeting in the middle as he frowned. "That made no sense."

"Sure it did," Ryan said, and he took the final bite of his burrito, chewing luxuriously. "You're just not thinking hard enough." 

Shane rolled his eyes. "If I think that hard, I might get brain strain," he told Ryan.

"Because I'm just _that_ smart, huh?" 

"No, because you make no sense," said Shane. "Also, stop eating so fast, you're going to end up with a stomach ache."

"You really do sound like my mother," Ryan groused. "Next you'll tell me to brush my hair."

"Not your teeth?"

"My dad is the one who tells me to brush my teeth," said Ryan. "What with him being a dentist."

"I always forget about him being a dentist," said Shane. 

"I don't," said Ryan, and he grinned a bit in spite of himself. "I had so many friends who were scared of him, because of it."

"I've _met_ your dad," said Shane. "He's, like, the most not-intimidating person ever." 

"I mean," Ryan said, "he was pretty intimidating when I was a kid. Because he was my dad."

"Were you often intimidated by your parents?" Shane propped his elbow up on the table, his chin resting on his palm.

"You make me feel like I'm being psychoanalyzed when you do that," Ryan complained.

"What, ask you questions about how you're feeling?"

"Yeah."

"That's what friends do, Ryan," said Shane, and he rolled his eyes. "Anyway, if I wanted to psychoanalyze you, I'd probably ask you to tell me about your mother."

"You need more of a German accent when you do it," Ryan said. 

"Freud was Austrian," said Shane.

"God, you're a pedantic motherfucker," Ryan said. He was always impressed at Shane's ability to pick the one little thing in a sentence, then pull on it like a loose thread in a rug. 

"I do my best," Shane said. "So will you finish this project when we get back to the office, then go home and _go to sleep_?" 

“Yeah, yeah,” Ryan said. “Don’t worry about it.”

Shane gave him a fixed look that Ryan didn’t entirely understand, but he finished his own burrito. 

* * *

Ryan finished his editing, back at the office. They went their separate ways, and he was flopping onto his couch to do some unwinding when he got a text. He glanced at his phone, and then he rolled his eyes. 

_Go to bed_ read the text.

_I’m in bed_ , he told Shane, which wasn’t strictly true, but he’d been known to sleep on his couch, so it kind of counted, right?

_You just posted a selfie on your couch, dumbass_ , Shane responded. 

… Okay, so Ryan had liked the weird things the light was doing to the shadows of his face, was that such a bad thing? It wasn’t as if he was pulling a stupid face or anything like that. 

_It was a good selfie!_

_I don’t care if it was a picture of the Loch Ness monster, go the fuck to sleep_.

_Why would the Loch Ness monster be on my couch?_

_SLEEP_

_Yeah, yeah_

_I swear to fucking Mothman, Ryan, if you do not go to sleep I will drive to your house myself_

_And what_

_I'll figure something out_

Ryan snorted, and he rubbed his eyes. Oh, Shane.

* * *

Ryan came into the office with dark circles under his eyes, sleepy and vaguely headachey. He caught Shane's disapproving look as soon as he walked in, and he made a face. "What?"

"You need to sleep more," Shane told him. "You look like a zombie."

"Like one of the zombies that devastated the Roanoke colony?" Ryan sat down heavily in his seat, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, trying to get his brain into something into working order.

Then he yelped, because Shane was reaching out and slapping the back of his head. That wasn't the type of thing that Shane normally did. "Ow! What was that for?"

"You're trying to derail me," said Shane. 

"What?"

"You know that bringing that up will annoy me, and because you know it'll annoy me, you know that I'll go on a tangent, thus no longer bugging you about the fact that you _need to sleep more_ ," said Shane. 

"You're giving me some pretty twisty motivations," said Ryan, and he yawned.

"You sound like Gollum," said Shane. 

Ryan paused, trying to get his brain in check. "A golem?"

"No," said Shane. "Gollum. You know, from _Lord of the Rings_?"

"I have more hair than he does," Ryan protested.

Shane snorted, and he looked genuinely amused. "I accuse you of sounding like a crazy weirdo who lives in a cave and the first thing you rush to defend is your hair?" 

"I'm proud of my hair," Ryan protested. "I can't be proud of my hair?"

"Maybe if you spent more time eating right and getting more sleep, you wouldn't have to worry about your hair in the first place," said Shane.

"... What?"

"I don't fucking know," said Shane, and he yawned. "I'm still tired."

"We gotta start planning our next episode," said Ryan, and he stretched, his arms over his head, his back protesting faintly. He wasn't sure why he was quite so tired. He hadn't gotten any less sleep than he usually did, but something was just... leaving him a bit to the left of himself.

Ryan had never burned out before, but he'd heard of what it was like. A bit like an intense depression, only different. Sort of. That wasn't a very good way of describing it, was it? Or was he just very tired? He didn't know. He just needed... he didn't know what he needed, but he needed it. As if that made any sense.

"Ryan," said Shane, and that shook Ryan out of his reverie. 

"Mm?" Ryan looked up at him, blinking as the world swam back into focus.

"You were staring off into space," said Shane. "What's up?"

"Sorry," said Ryan. 

"Why are you sorry?" Shane sounded like he was on the edge of annoyed.

"I'm pissing you off," Ryan suggested, although he wasn't sure.

"Ryan, you look like shit," Shane said, not unkindly. "How about I come over tonight and make you dinner?"

"Dude," said Ryan, making a face, "I know how to feed myself."

"Let me do it for my own peace of mind, then," said Shane.

"I feel like you're still implying I can't feed myself," Ryan groused, although there wasn't too much complaint in it. He was touched that Shane was willing to reach out, but... well, he was an adult. He knew how to take care of himself. 

... He might have been a little less than ideal at it lately, it was true, but it would be fine. It would all be absolutely fine. He was just tired. He'd bounce back. 

"Ryan," Shane said, and now he was looking at Ryan with the softest, gooiest expression Ryan had ever seen. Ryan would have been embarrassed, but he didn't seem to be able to move.

"Shane," Ryan responded.

"I'm gonna come over some time," he told Ryan, "and I'll make you dinner. And then we can plan the next episode."

"So this isn't just you coming over to be a bossy jerk about my eating and sleeping habits?"

"Ryan," said Shane, and his tone was condescending enough that Ryan kind of wanted to punch him, "I don't have to come over to your house in order to be a condescending jerk. I assure you, I can be a condescending jerk from a distance."

"You don't say," Ryan said, his voice as dry as old bones.

"Exactly," Shane said cheerfully, and he patted Ryan on the shoulder.

Ryan snorted. "You are such a douche," he told Shane.

"It's what you like about me," Shane said cheerfully, and then he was pulling his headphones back on, going back to whatever it was that he had been working on before Ryan had gotten to work.

“I mean,” Ryan said, although nobody else was really paying attention. He began to log in to his own computer - back to the content mines, as it was said. 

* * *

Shane pulled Ryan out of a work haze around one in the afternoon, tugging on the collar of his shirt. “C’mon.”

“Hm?” Ryan blinked, trying to get his bearings. 

“Lunch,” Shane said firmly. “We’re going to have lunch.”

“Oh,” said Ryan. “What are we having for lunch?”

Shane looked at him, one eyebrow up. “I mean,” he said, “you were the one going on about how you’re a grown ass adult. I figured a grown ass adult would want a chance to choose his own lunch.”

Ryan flushed, biting his lip. “Well,” he said.

“Well,” Shane echoed.

Ryan shot him a Look. 

Shane grinned back at him, clearly unrepentant. 

"I'm an open minded grown ass adult," said Ryan. "You can choose."

"Your mind is so open that you let anything fall in," said Shane.

"That wasn't very nice," Ryan huffed.

"Maybe _I'm_ not very nice," Shane countered.

"We both know that's not true," said Ryan. "You're a big softie." He poked Shane in the side, more for the annoyed look it earned him than because he wanted to do any poking. He was... restless, in a way that he couldn't entirely put his finger on. He wanted to poke and prod, he wanted to start an argument, or run twenty miles, or... something.

"I can be both," Shane countered, crossing his arms over his chest. "So what do you want for lunch?"

"I'll eat anything you put in front of me," he told Shane. 

"That's a dangerous thing to suggest," said Shane. "What if I decide to get mean and give you... bean stuffed cupcakes?"

"Have you been watching _Good Mythical Morning_?" Ryan snickered.

"Well, no," said Shane, "but that would be pretty disgusting."

"I'll try anything once," said Ryan, then; "I'll try _almost_ anything once."

"Do you think that I'm planning something?" Shane leaned back, looking entirely too relaxed for a man who was made almost entirely limbs. 

"I mean," said Ryan, "you were literally just arguing with me over the fact that you're apparently a big bad monster." 

Shane snorted. "Your logic is making me go cross eyed," he told Ryan. 

"You just can't follow basic logic," Ryan countered.

"Which still doesn't answer my question," said Shane, "namely, what do you want for lunch?"

"Uh," said Ryan. "Food?"

Shane groaned. "I hate it when you do that," he told Ryan. "You're such a goddamn teenager sometimes."

And Ryan... blushed. Why was he blushing so hard? He shouldn't have been embarrassed, and yet. "I could go for a burrito," he said, when he could think again.

"A man cannot live on burritos alone," Shane said, as if he were declaiming from on high. 

"Watch me."

* * *

Two days later, there was a tupperware with a piece of duct tape on it in the work fridge. Ryan's name written on the duct tape. He frowned at it, and then he took it out of the fridge, squinting at it. He could, at the very least, recognize Shane's handwriting, and he opened up the tupperware.

It was pasta. Pasta, with some kind of sauce. There was a little note attached to it - _you can eat it cold_. 

Huh.

Ryan would have gone and asked Shane about what all this was about, but the big guy was in a meeting. Ryan didn't entirely understand why Shane was giving him... what, leftovers? But he couldn't complain too much. It was cheaper than going to get another burrito, or whatever else it was he was in the mood for. 

Ryan took a little plastic fork out of the collected cutlery, and he ate the pasta slowly, chewing on it carefully. It was pretty good cold, although he'd always been fond of cold pasta. Shane had put something green in it - maybe spinach? He wasn't paying much attention to it as he chewed; his mind was on other things. He was currently up to his eyebrows in the new project, and that usually ate up all of his mind. Maybe it was all of the stupid violence that he studied, but half the time he ended up feeling vaguely... spooked, even when he was sitting by himself in the break room at work.

It was still a bit weird that he could sit by himself at the break room at work in general, considering how busy things used to be, but that wasn't a road that he wanted to go down. Although _why_ would Shane make him lunch like this in the first place? He rubbed his eyes, staring down at the tupperware, with half of its food still in it, and then he yawned. When he finished work, he might even just go home. He was so damn tired, and he knew perfectly well that it was his own fault, and _yet_. There was so much shit he just wanted to _do_ , and as good as sleep felt… well, there was so much other shit he also wanted to do, and he couldn’t do any of that while sleeping. 

"I want to be a brain in a jar already," Ryan said into the empty room.

"No you don't," said Curly, and Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin, because fuck, where did _he_ come from?!

"How do you know?" Ryan raised an eyebrow at Curly, endeavoring to do that same thing that Shane did. 

"Because brains in jars don't have muscles like yours," said Curly.

"You think I'm so shallow that I'd value my looks over anything else?"

"If I looked like you, _I_ wouldn't want to be a brain in a jar," said Curly. 

“You look great,” Ryan protested.

“I never said I didn’t,” said Curly, striking an exaggerated pose. It startled a laugh out of Ryan, and Curly grinned back. “Why do you want to be a brain in a jar, anyway?” 

“It’d be easier,” said Ryan.

“I dunno,” said Curly. “What do they keep those brains in?”

“... Keep them in?”

“You can’t just be, like, a brain rattling around in a jar,” said Curly. 

“Brains don’t rattle,” said Ryan. “They’re too… y’know, squishy.” 

“Thanks for that,” Curly said, and he wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t want to think about that.”

“You came into a conversation about brains in jars, I’m going to talk about brains in jars. That includes the _realities_ of brains in jars.” 

“You are such a weirdo,” Curly said, his voice tinged with fondness. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” said Shane from his spot in the doorway. 

“Shane,” said Ryan, and he was… flustered. Why was he flustered?

“Did you eat the pasta I left you?”

“Yeah,” said Ryan. “Thank you for it.”

“You’re welcome,” said Shane. “I figured I’d give you a break from the all burrito diet.”

"The all burrito diet served me well in college," Ryan protested. "I wasn't even eating the _good_ burritos at that point!"

Curly leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. He looked amused. "So Chipotle burritos are the good burritos. What are the bad burritos?"

"Taco Bell," Ryan said promptly.

"You lived on _Taco Bell_ in college?" Shane looked like some odd combination between nauseated and impressed.

"I mean, not _just_ Taco Bell," said Ryan. "But Taco Bell was... a substantial part of it."

Shane rubbed his face. He looked very tired. "Ryan," Shane said, in a long suffering voice, "how did you not die of scurvy?"

"People don't get scurvy anymore," Ryan said dismissively. "Isn't it like measles?"

"Bad comparison," said Shane, making a face.

"Bad taste to bring that up in the first place," Curly countered.

"Well, why are you telling _me_ off, I'm not the one who made it," said Shane, and he pointed at Ryan. 

"I eat better these days," Ryan protested. "Even if I did live on only Chipotle, there's plenty of vitamins and minerals in that. It has vegetables!"

Shane was pressing his face into the lip of the table, and he somehow managed to convey "long suffering" with only the top of his head visible. 

Ryan was impressed in spite of himself.

"Ryan," Shane said, and his voice was muffled, "you're a fitness buff. How do you take such _horrible_ care of yourself and still manage to look like... that?" He made a vague hand motion in Ryan's direction.

"Good genes," Curly suggested. 

"All those ghosts keeping me young," Ryan said. 

"Maybe a pact with a demon," Curly agreed. 

"Don't even joke about that," Ryan said quickly. "I'd never do that."

Shane sat up again, and he looked very tired. "I don't know why I put up with you," he told Ryan.

"Because you're my best friend," Ryan told Shane, and he fluttered his eyelashes like some kind of old time movie star. He did it purely to yank on Shane's chain. 

Shane didn't even return the favor by being snarky back. "You are such an annoying little shit," he told Ryan. "I'm coming over tomorrow night."

"Why not tonight?"

"Because my brain feels fried, and I don't have nearly enough coherence to actually get shit done that needs to be done." Shane rubbed his face.

"You've been looking kinda ragged lately," Ryan said. "You getting enough sleep?"

" _You_ of all people are not allowed to complain about that," said Shane sharply. "I swear, you're living like you're still fourteen." 

"It hasn't failed me yet," Ryan countered, although he was still blushing. He wasn't sure _why_ he was blushing, except he couldn't seem to stop. 

"Yet," said Shane. "You're gonna hit thirty -"

"I haven't hit it yet," Ryan interrupted. 

"Thirty is like a rake in the middle of the road," said Curly. "You're not expecting it, and then you step on it and it hits you right in the face."

"As long as I get to do the Sideshow Bob shudder, I can't complain too hard," said Ryan. He was pretty proud of that one.

"I will never understand you," Shane said, but he sounded faintly impressed in spite of himself. 

"Nobody will," Ryan said, and he sounded faintly proud of himself. 

"Tomorrow," Shane repeated, and Ryan wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise.

* * *

Shane did indeed show up at Ryan's apartment the next day. He was holding three grocery bags, clearly struggling, just a bit.

"Let me help you with that," said Ryan, and he grabbed one of the bags. Then he grunted, staggering under the weight of it. "Christ, what's _in_ here?"

"Tomatoes," said Shane. "Canned tomatoes, specifically."

"What are you making me?"

"Pasta sauce," said Shane, kicking his shoes off and making his way towards the kitchen. "I've got a good homemade one."

"You're making me pasta sauce? In what universe is pasta sauce more healthy than burritos?"

"When I fill it with vegetables," said Shane, as if that was the most obvious answer in the world. 

"How many vegetables? And what kind of vegetables are we talking about?"

"A good chef never discusses his secrets," Shane said, his voice almost prim.

"It's a good thing that you're not a good chef, then," said Ryan, more to be sassy than because he actually believed it. He'd never actually tried anything that Shane had cooked before - the big guy tended to commit a hundred and ten percent to everything he did in life, so of course his cooking would be good, right? 

"Fuck you too, buddy," Shane said cheerfully, and he was rolling up the sleeves of his button down. "Where's your cutting board?"

* * *

Ryan was put to work chopping vegetables. He wasn’t very good at it - almost nothing was of a uniform size - but at least it was all, more or less, smaller than it had been. He was also put to work chopping up the frozen spinach, which was… kind of unpleasant - it didn’t want to be chopped, and the way the knife skittered over the ice made his skin crawl. 

“Why use frozen spinach in the first place?” Ryan cut the big blocks into smaller blocks, then cut those in half.

“It’s cheaper,” said Shane, who was browning meat in the big pot that Ryan’s mother had given him. “And it’s easier to cook with. I don’t have to wait for it to reduce down.”

“Reduce down?”

“Spinach starts out really… big,” said Shane, and he made a vague hand motion, gesturing with a spoon. “Your spice rack is also pitiful.”

“You brought, like, half a dozen different spices with you anyway,” Ryan pointed out.

“I was hoping I’d just be making up for using up the ones you already had,” said Shane. “How do you go through life without any oregano?” 

“Oregano doesn’t exactly come up in my day to day life,” said Ryan.

“You told me you eat scrambled eggs regularly,” said Shane. “What do you put in your eggs?”

“... Eggs?”

Shane looked scandalized.

"What do you mix with them, to give them more texture?"

"They're eggs," said Ryan. "What else do you want them to taste like?"

"Do you at least add some herbs?"

"If I added herbs, it'd be an omelette," Ryan pointed out. "Who has time for that in the morning?"

Shane looked liked he wanted to press his face into something again, the way he did when he was annoyed.

"You need to eat better," he told Ryan. "And to sleep more."

"But there's always so much to... do," said Ryan, and he made a vague hand gesture.

"Don't wave your hands around when you're holding a knife," Shane said quickly.

"You are just mister bossy pants, aren't you?" Ryan stuck his tongue out at Shane, more to be a pain than because he meant anything about it. 

"I swear, you're like a kid sometimes," said Shane. His tone was some mix of exasperation and affection. "You won't go to sleep because there's too much to do."

"There's always more to do, y'know?" Now they were going into uncomfortable territory, and Ryan's stomach twisted uncomfortably. Why didn't he sleep enough? For a whole host of complicated reasons that he honestly didn't want to go into.

"I mean, yes, there's _always_ more to do, but there's always been more to do. That's kind of the nature of reality." Shane was chopping methodically, and okay, his vegetable chunks were a bit more... even than Ryan's own, but that was okay. 

"Shane, c'mon," said Ryan, and then he yawned, which didn't help his argument. 

"Should you even be _operating_ a knife?" Shane looked incredulous.

"It's a knife, not a car," said Ryan. "Don't worry about it."

"Go set the table," said Shane.

"But -"

"Go set the table, Ryan," Shane said in a long suffering tone of voice. 

"I thought I was cutting the vegetables," Ryan said. 

"I don't trust you with knives right now," said Shane. "Go set the table."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan groused, and but there wasn't much venom behind it. There was something nice about having someone fussing over him like this.

* * *

The pasta sauce was pretty good, although Shane was a bit more liberal with the spices than Ryan usually went in for. Admittedly, Ryan usually went in for the jarred pasta sauce, but... still.

The food was good. Maybe not restaurant quality, but few things beat a home cooked meal. Ryan was already starting to get sleepy by the time he finished his dinner, and he would have been embarrassed, but he was too tired.

"You're lulling me into a false sense of security," Ryan mumbled, yawning into his plate.

"Yep," said Shane. "Look at me, getting you to eat actual food that's not just burritos -"

"What's with you and your hate on for burritos, anyway?" Ryan interrupted.

"I don't have a hate on for burritos," Shane said, and he made a face. "But you need to vary things up, or you'll end up blocked up and put off of burritos for years at a time."

"You speak as if from experience," said Ryan, giving Shane an interested look.

"I've led a varied life," Shane said, his tone lofty. 

Ryan snorted. "Evidently," he said.

"So why aren't you sleeping?" Shane reached out for Ryan's plate.

"I told you," Ryan said. "I've just got too much going on in my head."

Shane nodded, and his expression was thoughtful. "Do you do anything to, y'know, calm it down?"

Ryan shrugged, looking down into his own lap. "I mean," he said, "sometimes I'll do a bunch of squats, or go to the twenty four hour gym -"

"But then you're not really sleeping," said Shane. "Anyway, I've seen how jazzed you get at exercise."

"Exactly," said Ryan. 

"So you need something physical that won't get you too worked up," said Shane, and now his expression was thoughtful. 

"I mean," said Ryan, and he waggled his eyebrows.

Shane rolled his eyes. "What other physical stuff have you tried?"

"I haven't, honestly," said Ryan, and he sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "I just kinda fall asleep when I pass out. But it can take a while."

"You should stay away from pills," Shane agreed. "That can't be good for you."

"Sleeping pills make me feel super groggy," Ryan agreed, "which is a problem I'm already happening, so it doesn't really make sense to... exacerbate it."

"Well," said Shane, "you can at least go to sleep now, with a full stomach and the knowledge that I'll yell at you if you stay up too late." He grinned brightly.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "How will you know, exactly?"

Shane tapped his nose, and he looked smug. "I have ways of knowing," he said, and that was enough to make Ryan snicker. 

“You sound like a villain in a bad movie,” he told Shane.

“I’d be the villain in the _best_ kind of movie, excuse you,” said Shane, and he looked genuinely offended.

“No, see, you _want_ to be the villain in the bad movies,” Ryan said. “You ever notice how the worst movies tend to have the best villains? Anyway, all the good movie villains are super tortured. You don’t want to be some kind of tortured dude who turned evil because your girlfriend got killed and stuffed into a fridge or something like that.”

“Wasn’t the original girl who got stuffed into a fridge -” Shane began.

“I don’t read enough comic books to know all the details,” Ryan interrupted, before Shane could go into his full shpiel.

“But you do know that it’s a comic book,” said Shane.

“Well, yes, I do know that it was a comic book,’ said Ryan. “But I thought that was pretty well known.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Shane. “But yeah. I guess I can see the logic there. I just don’t want to deal with an incompetent protagonist.” He gave Ryan a significant look.

“I mean,” Ryan said, and he put on a serene expression, “it can be argued that everyone is the protagonist of their own story.”

“It can be argued that,” Shane agreed. “I can see you arguing that, too.”

“You’ve said you could see me arguing anything.”

“After underwater Area-51? I totally can.” 

"It was just a theory!'

"You mentioned that theory," said Shane. "That implies that you give it _some_ credence."

"I could mention the canals on Mars, but that doesn't mean that I _believe_ in the canals on Mars!" 

Shane looked impressed in spite of himself. "You didn't strike me as a golden age of science fiction type of guy," he said. 

"Was that the golden age?"

Shane shrugged. "Can I crash here tonight?" He was saying it casually, but it felt like there was some kind of ulterior meaning that Ryan was missing.

"Why do you wanna crash here?" 

"Do you want the diplomatic answer or the actual answer?" Shane crossed his arms over his chest, and he looked faintly uncomfortable.

"I tend to prefer truth," said Ryan, and he yawned.

"I want to make sure you actually sleep," said Shane.

"What, you going to give me a spanking if I don't go to bed on time?" Ryan's cheeks were heating up as he said it, although he wasn't sure why. What was going on? Were they having some kind of weird moment?

"I mean," said Shane, one eyebrow up, "you're the one who suggested it."

"... I guess I did," said Ryan, and he cleared his throat.

There was a few moments of silence, and then Shane cleared his throat. "So, uh, you okay with me staying over?"

"Yeah, sure," said Ryan. "I'll make a bed up for you on the couch."

"You don't have to," said Shane. "I know where your linen closet is. I can do it after we wash the dishes." There was something about Shane's tone that should have been annoying Ryan - he could feel some small part of himself rolling his eyes. And yet... and yet, there was something so _nice_ about having someone just telling him what to do. He didn't have to worry about if he was doing things in the right order, or if he was forgetting something.

He was, admittedly, probably forgetting something, but he'd worry about that when he got to it. 

"You want to help me wash dishes?" Ryan was impressed in spite of himself.

"I dirtied 'em," said Shane. "I might as well, right?"

"Right," said Ryan. "That makes sense." 

"I do that sometimes," said Shane. He looked smug, the bastard.

"According to you, you _always_ make sense," Ryan said. 

"I'm only human," said Shane, then; "clear the table, will ya?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan groused. "Give me a minute."

Shane snorted, but he stood up, unfolding like a beach umbrella. "You do have more than one dish towel, right?"

"Why do you have such a low opinion of me, anyway?"

"I don't have a low opinion of you," said Shane. "I have a very high opinion of you. I do think you're shit at taking care of yourself, but there are plenty of people who are shit at taking care of themselves. It isn't a moral failing or anything like that."

"You make it sound like a moral failing when you put it like that," said Ryan, and he only sounded a _little_ sulky. 

Shane sighed, and he put a big hand on top of Ryan's head. It should have been condescending, and yet... it somehow wasn't. Or maybe it was condescending, but Ryan was enough into his own head that he didn't even notice. Or care. "Dude," he said, and his tone was affectionate, but exasperated. 

"Dude?" Ryan looked up at Shane.

"You are overthinking shit," said Shane. "The inside of your head must be _really_ loud." 

Ryan sighed, a long, gusty exhale. "You have no idea," he told Shane, with feeling.

"You can try telling me some time," said Shane. "I won't be offended. I promise."

"I don't worry you'll be offended," said Ryan. "I will admit that sometimes I worry that you'll... I dunno, tell me to do something especially weird. Or pull a _Misery_ on me."

"Why would I break your ankles?" 

"There's more to _Misery_ than the breaking of the ankles," said Ryan. "Remember how she led to him having the whole creative realization?" Then he paused, as his mind made a few vague connections. "Now that I think about it, that might do me some good. I could write the next great American novel."

Shane snorted, rolling his eyes. "In the book, he'd already written a few great American novels," he reminded Ryan.

"I watched the movie, I didn't read the book," said Ryan, and he took the plates off of the table, making his way towards the kitchen with them. 

"I thought you like Stephen King stuff."

"I do," said Ryan, "but _Misery_ always struck me as especially... I dunno. Perverse? It gave me the creeps."

"That does make sense," said Shane. "You wanna wash, I'll dry?"

"That sounds like a plan," said Ryan. 

“I do, occasionally, make good ones,” Shane said dryly.

Ryan snorted, but he put the dishes in the sink, and he bit back another yawn.

* * *

Ryan washed dishes, arguing with Shane about horror movies as he did so. Horror movies, horror books, eventually on to the real life horrors that the two of them studied. 

“Sometimes I feel kinda… surprised, that I can still be shocked by fictional stuff,” said Ryan, as he rinsed his dishes off, grabbing a sponge and applying a liberal amount of soap to it. 

“Why?” Shane leaned against the lip of the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, a dish towel over his shoulder. 

“Because we’re always neck deep in all these other horrors. The kinds of horrors that we look up for the true crime stuff, mainly. Like, knowing all the horrible things that human beings are capable of, is the shit that’s dreamed up by some weirdo in Maine that much of a… a shock?” 

"That weirdo in Maine who is apparently afraid of everything," Shane pointed out. "You must have that in common with him."

Ryan stuck his tongue out at Shane, aware that he was being immature but not sure how to stop. 

Shane rolled his eyes. 

"I'm not afraid of _everything_ ," said Ryan. "I'm just afraid of stuff that it make sense to be afraid of." He was scrubbing a plate industriously, and Shane was watching him, his expression something close to indulgent. It was the kind of look that you'd give your knuckleheaded fourteen year old cousin, and it was getting on Ryan's nerves. "Like you're one to talk," he added, nettled. "You're afraid of heroin needles and avocado pits."

"So you're not afraid of heroin?" Shane's tone was mild. 

"I mean, I'm not _afraid_ of it," said Ryan. "I have a healthy respect."

"A healthy respect for heroin?" Now Shane sounded unimpressed.

"You're doing that... thing," Ryan said, and he made an irritated hand gesture.

"What thing?"

"That thing, where everything that I do is just kind of funny to you, but not actually, like, funny, you just think I'm dumb."

"I don't think you're dumb," said Shane. "Why do you think that I think you're dumb?"

"You say I'm dumb all the time," Ryan said, and now he was whining. "You don't think I can take care of myself, and you think that I'm dumb..."

Shane gave a long suffering sigh. He put his hands on Ryan's shoulders, and he pressed their foreheads together. "Ryan," he said, and his voice was still so damn reasonable. "You're over tired, and I think you're picking a fight." 

"I'm _not_ picking a fight," Ryan protested. "I think -"

"Ryan, you're over tired," said Shane, and now his tone was stern. "You wanna go run around the block until you're less twitchy?"

"That doesn't make me any less twitchy," said Ryan. 

"Doesn't your building have a gym?"

"It's closed."

"Hmm." Shane kept his forehead against Ryan's, his big hands on the back of Ryan's head, sifting through the thin hair there. "I could spank you," he said, as if that was just a _thing_ that you said.

"What?!" Ryan didn't jerk back, but he did tense up.

"You've told me before that one of the ways you work out too many feelings is with physical activity," said Shane, "and you've _also_ said that certain kinds of physical activity leave you too hyped up. So I'm offering you a different one."

"I'm not some little kid," Ryan said weakly.

"I don't think you are," said Shane, and it sounded like he was using his soothing voice. Ryan didn't know how to feel about the fact that now he could actually recognize the difference between Shane's different voices these days. 

"So why are you offering to spank me?"

"I wouldn't spank a little kid," Shane said, which wasn't very helpful.

Ryan made a frustrated noise, and Shane tugged gently on his face, pinching his cheek. "Hey," he said quietly. "It's okay. If you need something, I can help you with it." 

"Why?"

"Because you're my best friend," said Shane, and the "duh" was unvoiced, but very much there nonetheless. 

"Oh," said Ryan, and then he sighed, and he was shaking. How about that? 

"Ryan," Shane said, "you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You don't have to do _anything_. If you want me to leave right now, I will."

"Don't go," Ryan said quickly. "Please," he added, and he was blushing.

"What do you want, right now?" 

"I want..." Ryan took a deep breath, and he licked his dry lips. "I want you to spank me," he said, barely audible. "Please?"

"Okay," said Shane, and he let go of Ryan, wiping his hands on the dish towel. "So are you going to be alright with me spanking you?"

"I did just say I wanted it," Ryan pointed out.

Shane shrugged. "I like to double check," he said. "To be on the safe side."

"Have you accidentally started spanking someone who changed their mind out of the blue or something?" That was unexpected.

"I wouldn't say I've gone _that_ far," said Shane, "but there have been a few... miscommunications over the course of my life."

"Haven't there been miscommunications over the course of everyone's life?" Ryan tried to sound casual. His heart was beating very hard, loud and thunderous in his ears. He was shaking, just a bit. 

"You're awfully philosophical," Shane said, and he put down the dish towel, indicating the door towards Ryan bedroom. "After you."

Ryan blushed, but he led the way.

* * * 

Shane had very skinny thighs. Ryan wasn’t so sure why he was so surprised by that, except that _wow_ , those sure were some knees digging into his stomach. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but at least he wasn’t dangling. He was holding on to the sheets, trying not to teeter too much. 

"You doing okay?" Shane put his hand on Ryan's lower back, as Ryan kept teetering. 

"I'm fine," Ryan said, although the embarrassment in the pit of his stomach was sliding up his throat, mixing up with all of the pasta sauce that he'd had. 

"You sure?" Shane's hand moved up, squeezing one shoulder blade, then on the back of Ryan's head. "You're all tense."

"My friend is about to spank me," Ryan said. "You can't blame me for finding it a little... y'know." 

"A little what?" Shane's fingers combed through the thin hair at the back of Ryan's head, and Ryan relaxed in spite of himself. Jerk, figuring out all of Ryan's weaknesses so easily. 

"A little... weird," said Ryan. 

"Ryan," said Shame, "our literal job is to go to haunted houses and jump at all the incorrectly hung doors and probably take years off of our lives from all of the rat poop that we're inhaling."

"Do you have to put it like that?" Ryan wrinkled his nose.

"Yes," said Shane. "Yes, I do, Ryan. I feel like you need the reminder."

"... Are you mad at me?" Ryan didn't like just how much his voice as wobbling. Goddamn it, he was a grown ass man. He shouldn't have been having so much trouble with... all of this. Why was he _like_ this?

"I'm not mad at you," Shane assured Ryan. "I'm doing this because I care about you, okay?"

"... Okay," Ryan mumbled, and he was blushing harder.

"You want this to stop, you stop," said Shane, and then his hand was resting on Ryan's ass. "I'm going to start now, okay?"

Ryan nodded.

"I wanna hear you say it, Ryan," said Shane, his voice as patient as the grave.

"I'm ready," Shane said quiet.

"What are you ready for, Ryan?"

"I'm ready for you to... to spank me," Ryan mumbled. 

"Very good," said Shane. "And then you can go take a shower, and we can both go to sleep."

"Right," said Ryan. His arms were crossed in front of him, resting on the bed, and he pressed his face into them. The embarrassment of this all was going to burn him alive, but it had to be better than the anxious, jittery energy that was running through him like an electric current. 

The first hit landed, and it was louder than Ryan had expected. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the sound of it made him react more than the sensation of it. He was shaking, his knees digging into Shane's thigh, as the next hit landed. It didn't hurt much - it helped that he was wearing jeans, and getting hit over a pair of jeans couldn't be that bad, could it?

It was weird, getting spanked like this - he wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it, but it sure was a thing that was happening. He kept his eyes closed, as hits rained down on him - Shane varied up the hits, moving from Ryan's ass to his thighs. It was hot, more than anything else - the impact didn't hurt that much, all things considered. He'd felt more of a burn from getting an especially hard high five. Only on his butt. The mental image of it was enough to make him snicker, and there was a pause.

"What's so funny?" Another hit, harder this time, and Ryan shivered. He was having some kind of feelings in the base of his throat, his toes curling and his knees digging into Shane's thigh. 

"I dunno," Ryan said. "This all feels so absurd."

"I can live with absurd," said Shane, and he landed another hit, "if it'll help you feel better."

"Why are you being so altruistic?" Ryan shuddered as another hit landed. He was beginning to go someplace quiet in his head - the static that seemed to fill up his whole mind was just going... _elsewhere_ , and the quiet of it was enough that it made him want to start crying. He hadn't known that relief could feel that good.

"Because that's just the kind of guy I am," said Shane, and he landed an especially hard hit, right where Ryan's thighs met his ass. 

Ryan grunted, and he rolled his eyes, but he stayed there, lying on his stomach, letting his best friend spank him like he was a kid again. He wasn't sure what he was feeling about it, but he couldn't deny that it was grounding him. He was relaxing - actually _relaxing_ \- into the bed, and that made no sense, considering that this hurt to the degree that it did. 

The pain was starting to creep up on him, and it was like the burn he got when he over-exercised, as he let his eyes side closed, let the hits land again and again. He let it wash over him, until suddenly they weren’t landing anymore, and he was just… lying there, stretched out on his stomach, his eyes shut. He felt a hand going through his hair, and he realized with some surprise that his face was wet. He must have been crying. 

Huh.

When had that happened? 

“Hey,” Shane said, and his voice was quiet, his fingers still carding through Ryan’s hair. “How you doing, buddy?”

“Fine,” Ryan mumbled, and he sniffled.

“You sure? Because it’s okay if you’re not.” Shane’s hands were remarkably gentle, and it was making Ryan shake.

“I’m fine,” Ryan repeated stubbornly, and he mostly meant it.

“Just some dust in your face?”

“Sometimes I have a lot of feelings, and they come out of my face,” Ryan said. Not a very dignified way of putting it, but the most descriptive way he could think of putting it. 

“Do you want me to help you with the feelings coming out of your face?” Somehow, Shane managed to make it sound less ridiculous when he put it like that.

“... I don’t know?” Ryan shrugged, and he wiped his face with one hand.

“Well, if you want to, I’m here,” said Shane.

“When’d you get so reasonable, anyway?” Ryan sniffed. 

"When we got renewed for a second season," Shane said, as if that was an actual _answer_. "Something about financial stability and minor internet celebrity just make me into a more dependable guy."

Ryan giggled, and it was a wet, snuffly giggle - he was faintly embarrassed at it, but also, like... wow. He was floating, a few inches away from his body. He yawned, and he let his eyes begin to slip shut, still draped across Shane's lap.

"Ryan," Shane said, and he helped Ryan sit up - Ryan's ass was sore, and he leaned against Shane, his face still dripping tears. "It's okay to have feelings. It's okay to feel conflicted, too. Okay?"

Ryan sighed, and he let Shane wipe his face. "I'm not good at having them," he mumbled.

"Only way to get better at having feelings is to just deal with them," said Shane, and then he was digging around in his pockets, pulling out a tissue. He held it up to Ryan's nose. "Blow."

Ryan blew his nose, faintly embarrassed, and then he sighed, as Shane wiped his nose. 

"Now," Shane said, all business, "you ready to go shower?"

"I kinda just want to go to bed," Ryan said, and he yawned so widely that his jaw cracked. 

"Hmm... if you go to bed now, will you shower in the morning?"

"I'm not some kind of monster," Ryan huffed, making a face. 

"Taco Bell burrito diet," Shane said flatly.

"That's different," Ryan insisted, sticking his tongue out at Shane.

Shane raised an eyebrow. "I could keep hitting you, y'know."

"Yeah, yeah," Ryan said, making an annoyed face. He was still so _tired_ , and it was a deep enough tired that all he wanted to do was fall over.

"Go brush your teeth," Shane said, patting Ryan on the hip. 

"Mm," Ryan mumbled, his head on Shane's shoulder.

"I mean it," Shane said, and prodded Ryan in the side, gently. "I can keep spanking you until you've woken up a bit more."

"Okay, okay," Ryan said, and he yawned again, standing up. He made a big show of rubbing his ass, and Shane rolled his eyes. 

"You brag about your gains all the time," Shane said, and he stretched, rubbing his eyes. He looked as tired as Ryan felt. 

"What do gains have to do with anything?" Ryan made his way back towards his bedroom, to brush his teeth.

"No pain, no gain, right?"

"There's a difference," Ryan said, running his toothbrush under the cold water, then adding his toothbrush. 

"What's the difference?" Shane was standing in the doorway now, leaning into it. He looked like a troublemaker out of a movie from the fifties, only taller. Did they get that tall in the fifties?

"Ryan," Shane said, "you're swaying."

"Sorry," Ryan mumbled around the foam in his mouth. 

"Don't be sorry," Shane said, "just finish brushing your teeth before you sustain a head injury."

"Head -"

"Ryan," Shane said, in a long suffering tone, "brush your teeth. Do whatever other before-bed stuff you do. Then _go to sleep_ before I get drawn into another long, meandering conversation with you."

Ryan nearly snorted, then remembered that his mouth was full of mint foam, and having it come out of his nose would probably unpleasant. He made a rude hand gesture, then went back to brushing his teeth.

Shane ruffled Ryan's hair, and Ryan rolled his eyes. He didn't know what he'd do with Shane, but... well, Shane seemed to know what to do with him. 

* * *

They fell into something like a routine after that - an unexpected one, to be sure, but do these sorts of things ever follow any sort of routine? For that matter, was there even a "these things"? How many other people had their friends spanking them, or telling them to go to bed, or to make sure to eat lunch?

But that was just... what Shane did. He came over, and he prodded Ryan to do laundry, or to make sure he was eating vegetables. Maybe he didn't trust Ryan to remember for himself. Ryan would have been insulted, except... well. It was _nice_ to have someone care so much, nice to have someone who took such a vested interest in him. 

So of course, he had to return the favor. Inasmuch as he could.

"So," said Ryan, a month after the first spanking, "would you, uh... would you maybe wanna go to Disney with me?"

"Disney?" Shane raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Ryan said, and his tone was earnest. "This time of year, it's pretty empty. The least amount of wait time, the most free rides, we could check out that neat new Avatar land..."

Shane gave an exaggerated shiver. "Those animatronics give me the creeps," he said. 

“Didn’t you used to have a ventriloquist dummy?” Ryan made a face as Shane put another helping of salad onto his plate, but he stuck his fork in the lettuce. 

“That’s different,” said Shane.

“How is it different?” Ryan asked, around a mouthful of spinach.

“I was the one moving the dummy. It wasn’t just… moving on its own.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” Shane held both hands up defensively. 

“We just don’t have to go to Avatar land,” said Ryan, but he was grinning in spite of himself. “Although how do they hit uncanny valley in the first place, when there’s no real thing for them to look like in the first place?” 

“It still gives me the creeps,” Shane said, and he gave an exaggerated shiver.

“Dude, you own pinned butterflies!”

“And they don’t move like they’re alive,” said Shane.

Ryan wrinkled his nose. “You made it worse,” he told Shane. 

“Oh, no doubt,” said Shane, and he gave his best shit eating grin. “That’s what I’m here for. Eat your spinach, it’s good for you.”

“I can get just as much iron from a protein shake,” Ryan pointed out.

“You cannot live on protein shakes and soylent alone,” said Shane. “And before you say _anything_ about burritos, I will remind you that I can come over tonight and we can have a… talk.” He raised an eyebrow, his meaning clear. 

Ryan made a face. "Well, anyway," he said, "do you want to go to Disney with me?"

Shane grinned at him, a full on _beam_. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," he told Ryan.

Ryan grinned back. "Good!"

* * * 

Ryan was almost _bouncing_ as they waited in line. 

"So what do you want to do?" Shane looked entirely too calm, his hands in his pockets.

" _Everything_ ," Ryan said earnestly.

"I am not going to the _Avatar_ world," said Shane. 

"Fine, fine," Ryan said, making a vaguely dismissive hand gesture. "Although you're no fun."

"Do you remember anything about the movie?" They inched along the line.

"I remember... um." Ryan stared upwards, trying to see if there were any parts of _Avatar_ that he could recall. "There were those weird little... dandelion puff things," he said, although he didn't sound so sure of himself.

_"There's blue people, and some really good CGI," said Shane._

_"There were... hot aliens?" Ryan posited._

_Shane rolled his eyes. "You are such a cliche," he told Ryan._

_"What kind of cliche, exactly?"_

_"A meathead cliche," said Shane, and he patted Ryan on the head._

_Ryan rolled his eyes. "I am _not_ a meathead," he told Shane._

_"You just play one on TV?"_

_"Who watches TV anymore," said Ryan._

_Shane snorted. "I mean, there are probably people who watch us on their TVs," he hazarded._

_"Watching us on _a_ TV doesn't mean that we're actually on TV," Shane said, and now he looked thoughtful. "The vagaries of language truly are a mystery for the ages."_

_Ryan snorted. "You just wanted to use the word "vagaries" in a sentence," he informed Shane._

_"It fits," Shane protested._

_"Yeah, yeah, but you _specifically_ engineered the sentence so you could say it in the first place," said Ryan. "So can you even say that it fits, when you made it go there in the first place?"_

_Shane snorted. "That's a reach," he said. "Although then again, I guess when you're -"_

_"If you're about to make a short joke, I'm going to pinch you someplace delicate," Ryan warned._

_Shane gave him a Look, one eyebrow up._

_"It's self defense," Ryan said weakly, and Shane kept looking at them._

_Luckily, the line had moved forward enough that the two of them were able to just pay, making their way inside. It was a good thing, too - something about the way Shane was looking at him made Ryan feel all weird and embarrassed. He probably would have confessed to almost anything, just to get Shane to stop looking at him like that._

_The guy would have made one hell of a police interrogator._

_* * *_

_There were rides. So many rides. It was exactly as wonderful as Ryan had expected it to be, because... well, they were at _Disney_ \- how could it not be wonderful? He didn't buy into the whole "happiest place on earth" or anything like that, but he was at a theme park. How could he not be in a state of giddy excitement?_

_Shane seemed amused by the whole business, but that generally seemed to be the way he viewed life in general. Ryan couldn't complain too hard - Shane was happy, even if he didn't seem to be as jump out of his skin excited about everything as Ryan was. It was hard to get Shane visibly, actively excited. He went on rides, he interacted with face characters (a few of _those_ pictures were going up on good ol' Gramtown), he laughed his way through some really bad jokes. His favorite ride was Jungle Cruise, because of course it was - nothing but puns._

_"I read somewhere that the turkey legs are actually emu legs," Shane told Ryan, when the two of them were sitting on a bench, people watching._

_"Emu legs?" Ryan frowned._

_"Yeah," said Shane. "It's supposed to be a money saving measure, or something similar."_

_"How does _that_ work?" Ryan rested his elbows on his thighs, his expression thoughtful. _

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I mean, emus are fuckin' huge," said Ryan. "How would having _emus_ be the turkey legs work? I mean, first, emus are actual food in the first place. It's not like they're feeding us... sculpted cardboard or anything like that. Emu is food. People eat emu."_

_"I guess some people are grossed out by the idea of eating emu," said Shane._

_"Huh," said Ryan. "I don't get that."_

_"Are we the right ones to really talk about that, though? Since we're willing to eat apple taters." Shane was grinning now._

_Ryan stuck his tongue out. "Yeah, but those were _delicious_ ," he told Shane. _

_“They were,” said Shane._

_“But also, okay,” said Ryan, and he indicated the turkey leg, “this is still a turkey leg. It’s _one_ leg. Unless they’ve got some magic power to make legs somehow be… different, it would still be just one leg.”_

_Shane snickered. “Emus have two legs,” he agreed. “They’re known for it.”_

_“I thought emus were just known for being vicious bastards,” said Ryan._

_“No,” said Shane, “that’s geese. I think emus are mainly just known for being really dumb.”_

_“Where are all the emu stereotypes coming from, anyway?”_

_“I follow an emu farm on twitter,” Shane said, as if that was just a _thing_ that people said._

_“An emu farm,” Ryan said flatly._

_“They keep yaks too,” Shane said._

_“And you follow them on twitter because…?”_

_“They’re funny,” said Shane. “You ever seen an emu on ice? It’s amazing.”_

_Ryan paused, as his brain made a connection. “See, now all I can think of is that one Mel Brooks movie.”_

_“ _History of the World Part 1_?” Shane’s face broke into a broad grin._

_“Yes!” Ryan opened his mouth… and then closed it. Certain things probably shouldn’t be said in public. Especially the kind of public that was Disney._

_"I know what you're thinking," Shane said, and he grinned at Ryan. "I wouldn't recommend -"_

_"I know," Ryan said quickly, and he gave Shane a Look. "I _am_ an adult, you know. I know how to regulate what comes out of my mouth."_

_"Could've fooled me," Shane said, and his tone was practically _bland_."_

_"Fuck you too, man," Ryan said amicably._

_And a little old lady walked by at that moment with a grandchild in tow, because of course she did._

_Ryan gave her an awkward smile, and she glared at him, giving them a wide berth._

_"Really, Ryan?" Shane was frowning now._

_"Sorry," Ryan said, and he meant it, too. More or less. He was on the way towards over stimulation, wasn't he? He could recognize it, in a distant sort of way._

_"We'll talk about it later," Shane said firmly._

_"Can we go walk around some more now, please?" Ryan hated how apologetic he sounded, but didn't know how to turn it off._

_"In a sec," said Shane. "You look like you need some water." He dug around his bag, then pulled out a bottle of water. "You need to hydrate."_

_Ryan wrinkled his nose, but he took a slug of water. It was hot, and he could feel the heat draping over him like a wool blanket. He was tired, all of a sudden - was he only noticing that he was tired because he had just sat down? Or... what?_

_Ryan yawned, and Shane grinned at him, not unkindly. "You just keep pushing yourself, don't you?"_

_Ryan shrugged, sheepish. "I don't know what else to do," he told Shane._

_"We need to work on that," Shane said, and Ryan wasn't sure how to react to that - how _did_ you react to someone talking about your personal problem as a "we" thing? _

_"It'll get worked out," Ryan told Shane._

_"Ryan," Shane said, and he sounded very tired, "the way things work out is by working them out. You're going to need to work them out, in order for them to work out."_

_"Well, yes," Ryan began._

_"So if you want them to be worked on, you need to _work on them_." He was being extremely emphatic as he said it, and it was making Ryan uncomfortable, although he couldn't put his finger on why._

_"I get it," Ryan mumbled._

_Shane put a hand on top of Ryan's head, ruffling Ryan's hair. "I understand you're stressed," he told Ryan. "I just also know that you won't be able to get anything done if you have a nervous breakdown before you turn thirty."_

_"I'm close enough to thirty that I don't have to worry about that," Ryan said, and okay, maybe he was partially saying it specifically like that to be obnoxious, but Shane didn't have to know that, did he?_

_... Judging by the look that Shane was giving him, Ryan had a feeling that Shane knew he was doing it to be obnoxious. Oh well._

_"We're gonna have a Talk when we get back," Shane said._

_"When you say a "talk," Ryan began, anxiety already beginning to curdle in his stomach like bad milk._

_"It means whatever you want it to mean," Shane said, and his tone was so easy that it almost made Ryan feel better._

_Almost._

_* * *_

_The rest of the day was a lot more... mellow. There were a few more rides, and a lot more sweet food - they ended up sharing a massive funnel cake, back and forthing it between the two of them. It was topped with apple pie filling, whipped cream, and powdered sugar. Ryan was going to be buzzing like a hummingbird by the time they got home._

_The ensuing "conversation" that was looming over Ryan was, admittedly, making him nervous. He knew, on a logical level, that Shane would stop anything if Ryan said stop. There was something almost... safe about that, although there was something anxiety inducing as well. Something a tad uncomfortable about the fact that Ryan was letting all of this go on, even though he could stop it. Maybe something almost... immoral?_

_"You're in your own head," Shane whispered in Ryan's ear, jolting Ryan out of his reverie. The two of them were standing in line to go on Space Mountain again, and Ryan had been staring off into the middle distance._

_"What?" Ryan blinked, coming back to himself._

_"You're in your head," Shane repeated. "I don't know how you can get so lost in there, considering how small it is..."_

_"Well, I don't know how you're ever _not_ lots, considering the fact that you've got so much noggin to begin with," Ryan countered._

_"Are you ever not going to make fun of my head?"_

_"Sometimes I'll make fun of your legs," Ryan told him, his tone serious._

_“You could just not make fun of me,” Shane pointed out._

_“I mean,” Ryan said, as the line inched forward, “I _could_ , but where would the fun be in that?”_

_“At least I don’t believe in Underwater Area-51,” Shane said._

_“You can’t use that as your trump card during every argument we have,” Ryan groused._

_“I wasn’t aware we were having an argument,” Shane said. “I thought we were just having a discussion. Or is every discussion an argument.”_

_“It is when you say it like that,” said Ryan._

_“You’re just cranky,” said Shane. “Are you coming off of your sugar crash?”_

_“I didn’t have a sugar crash,” said Ryan. “I didn’t even have that much sugar, all things considered.”_

_“All things considered,” Shane echoed._

_Ryan shrugged. “We’re at Disney,” he told Shane._

_"So, what, geographical consistency makes it less likely to be sugar?" Shane looked unimpressed._

_"It's... vacation," said Ryan, making a vague hand motion._

_"No way is it vacation," said Shane._

_"We're at Disney! Disney automatically counts as a vacation!" Ryan sure was having a lot of feelings, and they all seemed to be trying to come out at once. They also seemed to have come out of nowhere, which was... unexpected. Ryan liked to think that he was pretty emotionally cognizant, if not always the most self aware about other things. And yet._

_"Ryan," Shane said, and he was using his reasonable voice, and that made it _worse_ , somehow, because Ryan wasn't feeling reasonable, and it was just... not fair. It was all not fair!_

_"Shane," Ryan said back, and at least he was managing to keep his voice calm, right?_

_"I think you're over stimulated, and you don't need any more sugar," said Shane._

_"But -"_

_Shane raised an eyebrow._

_Ryan made an aggravated noise, and he rubbed his face, pinching the bridge of his nose._

_"How about some water? We can go sit in some shade, then maybe go on a few more rides." Shane's voice was kind, and it was getting on Ryan's nerves._

_"Why are you like that?" Ryan snapped._

_"Like what?" Shane looked faintly guilty, and a little stab of guilt prodded Ryan in the chest, like a hot, blunt needle._

_"Like... so... like that," Ryan said, and he made a vague hand gesture._

_"You're gonna have to be a bit more specific, bud," said Shane._

_"So... condescending. So much like you know better. So much like... like..." Ryan made another hand gesture, and then flopped back, defeated. Trying to make it make sense made it even worse._

_"Like?" Shane looked genuinely concerned, which somehow made it worse. Urgh. Jerk!_

_"Like... like you know better," Ryan repeated._

_"Buddy," Shane said, and his tone went quieter. "I think... I think that sometimes you get overwhelmed, and I've noticed that it tends to result in you losing track of stuff. But if you're having trouble with, you know, me helping you -"_

_"I'm not having trouble," Ryan interrupted, trying to get his thoughts in order. "I think I'm just... I have a lot of feelings."_

_"We've all got a lot of feelings," Shane said, and he patted Ryan on the shoulder. "The joy of being full of emotion soup."_

_"... What?"_

_"You know," said Shane, and now he looked sheepish. "That's basically what hormones are, isn't it?"_

_"I mean, yeah, but... _emotion soup_?!" And then, inexplicably, Ryan was laughing. Really, really laughing, laughing hard enough that he was almost afraid he'd fall off of the bench. All of the ridiculous emotions that had just been bubbling below the surface seemed to be pouring out of him like some kind of great mess, and he panted, bent double, still panting, wiping his eyes. "Fuck, Shane, you're..."_

_"Devilishly handsome? A genius? Right about ghosts?" Shane supplied, looking more smug with each suggestion._

_"An utter prick," Ryan said with confidence._

_Shane's eyes darted around. "You're going to talk like that in _this_ , the happiest place on earth?" Shane endeavored to look scandalized, although the look didn't really suit his face. _

_Ryan snorted. "You are such a prick," he repeated, although his tone was fond. "And maybe you were right about the sugar," he added, as an afterthought._

_"I usually am," Shane agreed, not unkindly._

_Ryan rolled his eyes. "You come off as a total prick when you do that," he told Shane._

_"Yeah, but I'm still _right_ ," said Shane. "I can live with being a prick if I'm also right."_

_Ryan snorted, leaning back in the bench and rubbing his face with both hands. "I don't know why I put up with you," he told Shane._

_"Because if you didn't, you'd probably still be on the all burrito diet," said Shane._

_"I don't get the hate you have for the all burrito diet," said Ryan._

_"You need more variety in your life, Ryan," said Shane, and then he snorted. "Then again, _how_ many Lakers jerseys do you own?" _

_Ryan snorted, and he waved a hand in Shane's general direction, as if he was banishing a bad smell. "Just because _you_ don't have a home team you're loyal to..."_

_"I've got plenty of things that I'm loyal to," Shane said, and there was enough sincerity in his voice that Ryan's stomach gave a weird little twist. "But I don't see the point of owning clothing proclaiming said loyalty."_

_“You wear that one shirt that says “Chicago,” which is totally declaring a loyalty,” said Ryan._

_“That doesn’t count, we got that for work,” said Shane._

_Ryan snorted. “If you say so, big guy.”_

_“C’mon,” said Shane. “Let’s get some real food.”_

_* * *_

_Shane came home with Ryan._

_That was… just a thing that happened these days; sometimes, Shane stayed over. He slept on Ryan’s couch, looking like one of those weird draft blockers that Ryan’s grandmother had kept. He always managed to look comfortable, which was impressive in spite of itself. There was just so _much_ of him on display. _

_“You have too much leg,” Ryan said, as he got a glass of water, leaning against his counter._

_“Yep,” said Shane. “And you’re going to get spanked.”_

_Ryan’s cheeks flushed. “Am I?” His stomach was in knots - full of who even knew how much theme park, but still in knots._

_“It’ll help you sleep,” Shane said, and he smiled at Ryan, then paused. “Unless you’re really uncomfortable with it?”_

_“... No,” Ryan admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I’m… I’m okay with it. It’s just, uh… sometimes i feel weird about it.”_

_Shane shrugged, stretching like a cat. “Coping methods are coping methods,” he said. “If they help, they help.”_

_“Right,” said Ryan. “I’m, uh… I think I’m ready.” He swallowed, and his throat clicked._

_Shane smiled at him. “Well,” he said, “how about we get started, then?”_

**Author's Note:**

> I've never actually been to Disney - apologies for anything I got wrong!


End file.
